Sun-scorched Judgment
Copyright© 2026 by Trace Linden
Chapter 5
Western Sex Story: Chapter 5 - Western adventure mixed with raunchiness marks Mr. Linden’s debut work. It’s 1872, and young Caleb Warner, hoping to become a miner, instead finds himself navigating criminal goings-on while uncovering the needs of the women in the high prairie town of Judgment. Soon enough, he finds himself in a big ol’ heap of trouble.
Caution: This Western Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual Fiction Western Polygamy/Polyamory
As Delilah’s explanation fought with the sound of the wind shaking the door and pelting the windows with heavy rain, her daughter kept both cups filled with coffee. The third chair appeared beside the widow, and Susie sat, joining the conversation, more of a monologue. Is it still a monologue if two people provide the words?
The bottom of it was that Colonel Morrison wanted to own everything. After arriving out of the blue with his sons, he’d started to buy up all the good land. Not that much was useful for farming, except along the river, where the Andrews homestead sat.
However, plenty of the surrounding acreage could support cattle. The farm, straddling one of the key Rock River crossings, stood smack dab between larger parcels owned by the colonel. He’d been trying to purchase it for over a year, right after Gregory had died ... almost to the day.
“Wow,” Caleb muttered, leaning back in the chair with the mug before his lips.
“So, that’s what yer bossman wants to know. Will I sell under these terms?” Slender fingers spun the paper on the tabletop and slid it toward him. “Can you read?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Swear to Jesus...” She crossed herself and glanced upward. “Sorry, Lord.” Her gaze returned to him. “You make me feel so darned old. Delilah, please, Caleb.”
For the first time, she sent him a smile. Thin, more of a promising curve at one corner of full lips, but it got him grinning ... and made his heart race. In the lantern’s glow, her eyes appeared to flash. Not much, just the tiniest flicker. Only then did he notice that the uppermost button of her blouse was undone, leaving the collar a little wider. He racked his brain to remember when that had happened, but failed.
Her finger, tapping on the paper, brought him back to the letter. After a quick shake to clear his head of foolishness, he bent to read the words. Impressive handwriting, immaculate, each cursive letter in perfect alignment. The colonel’s work or had he dictated to the visored man on the ground floor? Either way, the hundred-dollar smile seeped into every word.
The terms made little sense to him. The actual value of land on a high prairie? No idea. However, the note’s tone displayed ... frustration. He looked up to find both women sharing glances. As he slid the letter toward Delilah, the wind rattled the door behind him, and both sets of eyes flicked to it.
“Guessed right,” the mother said. “You’ll be stayin’ for dinner. Not the best cook, I’m afraid.”
Later, with inkiness beyond the rivulet-covered windows and the storm still shaking the farmhouse entrance, they sat once more at the table. To one side lay a neat pile of needlepoint that had kept both women busy most of the day.
For his part, Caleb had propped the remaining chair against the door, diminishing its rattle. Both had sent him smiles; he’d felt the proper hero and thrust out his chest. They’d both laughed, drawing laughter from him before his aching frame had landed on the bench to catch some shuteye.
Under the glow of the lantern now occupying the middle of the table, shallow bowls of a hearty stew exuded the most wonderful aromas. Softened beef, well-spiced and falling apart, floated amid root vegetables. When his stomach rumbled, both pairs of glittering blue twinkled brighter, but they narrowed as he raised a wooden spoon.
His hand froze when the women linked hands and bowed their heads. The spoon thumped, landing on the bowl’s wide rim, and his murmurs joined them to recount “The Lord’s Prayer.”
Though forgiven by Delilah’s nod and gracious smile, he still waited until they dug into the meal. After they’d all eaten in silence for a while, she looked at her daughter, then across at him. Once again, her eyes appeared to flicker, and his heartbeat raced.
“Ain’t lookin’ fer ‘nother husband.”
“What? Uh, no ma’am ... Delilah.”
“Susie ain’t seekin’ a boy yet, neither.” She nodded to her daughter. “Need her here aside me.”
“Of course.”
More silence stretched until the bowls sat empty. While the younger beauty gathered and took them to the sink, Delilah’s eyes made him lose track of most things. Only the muted rattle of the door, his thumping heart, and pink lips parting as if about to speak.
Yet pinkness sealed; nor had he any words. Besides, what’s to say? Instead, he let the tension, a pleasant one that kept his face a little heated, hang in the air. After a while, he tossed out a grin.
In return, a smile bloomed. No, such radiance didn’t offer anything in particular, wouldn’t be appropriate, but loneliness hovered behind suddenly softer irises.
A swift exhale left those wondrous lips. The atmosphere slackened, and she gestured toward the fireplace.
“You can sleep by the fire. It’ll lower, but we keep it alive so’s don’t have to restart the darned thing.”
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